


Corvus

by MagneticShark



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-02 01:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagneticShark/pseuds/MagneticShark
Summary: In the wake of Abaddon's 13th Black Crusade, the Imperium has once more been plunged into a desperate struggle for survival. While the Ultramarines are busy holding back the tide of Mortarion's Plague Marines, a distant world on the fringe of Imperial space has sent out a plea for salvation from an oncoming Tau invasion.Due to this world's strategic location near a Forge World, the 7th Company of the Raven Guard has been dispatched to deal with this threat.But they may soon find more than they bargained for...





	1. The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

The xenos never saw Terax coming. Slowly, quieter than a suit of power armor should be, he had crouched behind the brown-armored form of a Tau Fire Warrior, drawing a curved knife from his belt. The glossy black of his armor shimmered softly in the night air, and yet the xenos never noticed. He reached out, and in one smooth motion, drew the Tau to him and slit his throat. Then he brought his knife up and pried out the Tau’s helmet receiver, ensuring that no distress signal was transmitted.

To his right, a bush shivered, its leaves parting. A red laser peeked out, before the muffled reports of two gunshots emitted forth. With two bright flashes, the other two Fire Warriors further down the trail exploded, painting the forest with blue gore.

“Clean kills,” Terax grunted into his helmet’s vox. “We’re clear.”

The bush to his right crackled as a hunched form stepped forth. A crouched Space Marine appeared, clad in black Corvus-pattern power armor and holding a stalker bolter. The curved beak of his helmet dipped towards Terax in a nod.

Terax looked back at the trail. The grizzled Karlyle, one hundred years his senior, never spoke much. He didn’t think tonight would be any different.

“How’s the rest of the patrol?” he spoke into the vox headset.

“Wiped clean,” came back the crisp reply. “We can move up now.”

As the vox channel hissed, another of the Marines came out of the forest further ahead, raising his bolter above his head. This one wore the more recent Tacticus-pattern power armor, revealing his nature as a Primaris marine. Verium was one of the newest inductees into the squad, at only fifty years of experience, but had quickly picked up the nuances of the Raven Guards’ way of war.

Two more marines emerged behind Verium, also recent Primaris recruits. One of them sheathed a blue-streaked knife, the other scanning behind him for more targets.

Terax and Karlyle moved down the path to rejoin Verium. As they passed by a tree, Terax spotted several bodies strung up amongst the branches. Rifles and armor bits were strapped to the tree trunks, while the Tau patrol members had been slung over the branches.

“That your doing, Verium?” Karlyle asked tersely. “Seems excessive.”

“We don’t know if the Tau are coming back here,” Verium replied sharply. “I figured better safe than sorry.”

“Enough,” snapped Terax. The other squad members fell silent, turning towards him. “We can go over this in the battle report later. Me and Karlyle will take the front and silence incoming patrols. Verium, you and the other two will bring up the rear. We’ll meet up with the rest of the squad at the rendezvous.”

They all nodded in unison. Without a word, the Third Tactical Squad of the 7th Company formed a line and spread out, fading into the shadows under the trees.

* * *

Commissar Narvik was not having a very good day.

The first scout he sent up to the ridgeline had returned without his head. The second had three plasma holes punctured in his body, each one large enough to fit a fist through. The third had taken one peek over no-man’s-land and been shot in the eye socket.

He had no intel, no knowledge of enemy movement, and no way to counter the guns they had zeroed in on his position. The nearest reinforcements were a week away, bogged down by supply line raids, excessive casualties, and the loss of a notary form that some quartermaster had forgotten to sign somewhere.

He looked up, noticing the stars burning brightly above. A hot breeze, carrying with it the stench of mud and rotting flesh, fluttered his cap and trench coat. His fingers were pressed to the cold steel of his bolt-pistol.

Then Narvik turned, staring at the crowd before him with icy, distant eyes. Standing before him was an assembled platoon of Guardsmen, their green armor pitted with plasma burns, their skin red with scars, their clothes torn and bloody.

“Gentlemen,” he began. The platoon simply stared at him, a sullen chill passing through the air. “I understand that this has been a hard journey. I, too, fought with you, bled with you. I’ve seen what those foul xenos can do.”

A small cough, hoarse with a dry throat, bounced off the back of the crowd. Narvik paused for a moment, his left eye twitching. He glared at the back rows of the Guardsmen, searching for any culprit. Finding none, he continued again.

“The Emperor did not send us if he believed we would fail, however,” he proclaimed. “And I have no intention of disappointing Him. In one hour, we will assault the xenos’ positions.”

Murmurs and gasps spread through the Guardsmen before him.

“Gather your men and supplies,” he continued. “We will make one last offensive, supported by artillery from our sister regiments. We will open with a bombardment, followed by a mass charge. We will have all the resources needed on hand to smash through the Tau’s front line.”

Shocked conversation rang through the throng before him. Several guardsmen were actively praying, their hands clasped before them and their lips whispering the creeds their chaplains had taught them.

One private spoke up: “Sir, are we really doing this? I mean, shouldn’t we wait for the reinforcements?”

“Time is a commodity all too precious to the Emperor,” Narvik replied, his voice low and soothing. “And besides, there is still one last tidbit you should know.”

The private’s eyebrows arched inquisitively. “Sir?”

“Listen up, you weepy-eyed excuses of maggot-trash!” Narvik bellowed, his voice echoing through the trenches around him. Now his favorite part of the speeches was coming up.

Guardsmen looked up from prayer or consolation, some of them wiping the corners of their eyes. Many of them stared back in confusion, miffed by his renewed vigor.

“The obstacles set before us may appear insurmountable. Indeed, it may feel at times like the very maw of darkness itself threatens to swallow us whole. But as long as we keep faith, as long as we continue to draw breath, we shall forever hold back that darkness!”

The words were flowery, lengthy, without pause. But Narvik could tell it was working. Heads were beginning to perk up again, spines to be straightened once more.

“And as we keep faith, the Emperor will protect. And your efforts will not be in vain, for we have been rewarded!” Narvik held up a small pict-screen in his hand, just big and close enough for the front row of Guardsmen to see what it displayed.

In blurry images snapped by distant sensors and security cameras, black-clad suits of armor, each one two heads taller than the average man, swept in behind lines of Tau infantry. With impossibly precise shots and strikes quicker than the eye could follow, they tore through the Tau with blade and bolter, leaving behind blue-stained corpses.

Another wave of murmurs rose up, this time heightened with elation.

“Is that…”

“No way…”

“Our venerable lords the Raven Guard of the 7th Company have seen fit to answer our pleas,” Narvik triumphantly proclaimed. “And they have come crashing down from the heavens to smite the unbelieving aliens before us.”

News of this development rippled through the crowd before him, and Narvik could tell he now had their full attention once more.

“They have agreed to assist us in this charge,” he continued. “With the benediction of Our Lord, they shall fall upon the aliens and cause confusion, which our spearhead will exploit to break through and end this siege. So shall we crest ever forth, unto glory, for the Master of Mankind!”

“For the Master of Mankind!” the regiment shouted back. Smiles were reappearing on battle-worn faces, the tiredness of their gaunt faces seeming to fall away in an instant.

“For the Master of Mankind!” Narvik shouted again.

“For the Master of Mankind!” roared back the crowd, more voices now joining in the throng.

“Now you may go and prepare, so that we may deliver His great gift of oblivion upon the enemy,” Narvik concluded. “Go! There is no time to be wasted.”

He raised his hands in a salute, forming the sign of the Imperial Aquila. The rest of the regiment did the same, rows of hands forming the same timeless symbol. Then they dispersed, clumping around their unit leaders and retrieving their lasguns.

A shadow rippled to Narvik’s right, and an officer stepped forth. A row of medals was pinned on the top left of his carapace armor’s chestplate. His left arm grasped a sheathed saber, while his right eye, long replaced with a bionic lens, stared unflinchingly at him.

“You have a way with words, Commissar,” he rasped.

“I trained in the Academy for a long time,” Narvik replied. “I had to at least put some of that knowledge to use.”

The officer grinned, bemused. “That you did.”

Narvik turned to face him and stretched out his right hand. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve met you before. I’m Commissar Meres Marvik.”

The officer raised his own right hand and grasped the commissar’s. “I’m Captain Nayvan Killian of the Cadian 89th. Feel free to call me Killian, sir.”

“With all due respect, Captain, I’d like to stick to formalities,” Narvik responded.

Killian nodded sagely. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”


	2. The Crest of the Squad

The shadows beneath the trees crept outwards, forming small fingers upon the grass like some unseen hand clasping tightly. Laser sights and optical sensors flickered in the darkness, while enormous armored boots sank into the mud. Five Astartes emerged, their bolters held up, scanning the horizon.

At the other end of the clearing, surrounding by massive trees stretching into the sky, was a tan metal wall, with a circular airlock set square in the middle. Blinking lights haloed around the curved door, above which security scanners watched the clearing with unblinking black lens.

Terax raised his hand in a clenched fist, and the Third Tactical Squad halted, crouching in a semicircle around him.

“Karlyle, it’s your go,” Terax spoke into the vox network linking him with his battle-brothers.

“Roger,” Karlyle grunted. He raised his bolter, a Stalker-model variant fitted with a scope and extended barrel. In the span of a brief flash, the lens above the airlock splintered, sparks fizzling into the air. The lights were next to go, throwing the wall into shadow.

“Cronius, how are our auspex readings?” Terax asked.

“I’m not picking anything up,” came the reply. One of the Primaris Astartes to his right held up said device, a small screen mounted on a vertical grip. Green light spilled softly onto his armor. A grid flickered upon the screen, through which a single line streaked flatly. His right eye, long ago replaced with a red optic, stared unblinking at it.

“Good,” said Terax. “They don’t know we’re here. Verium, get the door.”

“On it,” he replied, motioning towards Cronius to join him. Together they marched towards the door, their Bolters up and ready. Karlyle hung back, watching them through his scope, while Terax crouched behind him, the last member in their five-man squad squatted beside him.

“Paeran,” Terax motioned to the Tactical Marine beside him.

“Yes, sergeant?” came the reply. The hunched shadow besides him shifted, and Terax found himself looking at another Primaris marine in shining new Tacticus armor. Unlike the rest of the squad, there was no scratch or aberration to mark the passage of time upon his ceramite plating.

“Hold back and let us clear the way first,” Terax continued. “Cawl may have engineered you, but this is still your first battle since you awakened. A lot has changed between the Great Crusade and today.”

“Understood sir,” came the reply. Paeran’s helm dipped slightly, at first appearing as a show of respect. Terax could tell, however, that beneath the optical sensors of his helm lingered frustration. Perhaps, even, a desire to impress.

The sergeant smiled, although the expression was too far buried beneath ceramite for anyone to notice. He remembered a time when he felt the same. For now, Paeran would have to wait for his glories.

Sparks flared from the airlock as Cronius put a plasma cutter to the hinges. An orange glow glinted in his helmet lenses.

“It’s done,” he grunted. The rest of the squad congealed at the door, stacking up behind Cronius with their bolters ready.

“Kick it in,” barked Terax.

Cronius leaned backwards, his bolter magnetized to his armor. Then, faster than the eye could see, his right leg flicked outwards and met the door. It crashed inwards, sparks flying off the metal floor. The squad swept in, bolters scanning the corners. Cronius was last in, his bolter raised again, his red optic whizzing as it switched to night vision.

“Empty,” Karlyle grunted. “And I’m not seeing any drones.”

“Excellent,” crowed Terax. “We’ll hit the command center. Cut out the brain and let the body wither.”

* * *

The Raven Guard passed through the shadows with only the subtlest of hints to give them away.

Terax’s helm, painted with the white markings of a Sergeant, could have drawn the eye. But it also drew attention away from his knife, enabling him to dispatch any Tau guard that peered too closely into the shadows.

Karlyle, a veteran of four-hundred years and yet unremarkable beyond his field capabilities, settled for picking off stragglers with his stalker bolter. A red laser in the darkness was the last thing his victims saw.

Cronius’s prosthetic eye glowed in the darkness, its angry red glare pointed accusingly at the target. Like Terax, he utilized one feature that stood out to conceal another. As he turned corners, he stared down the Tau before swinging his chainsword, splattering the hallways with blue-blooded gore.

Verium oftentimes took point, his youthful energy serving his betters well. While the rest of the squad hung back to mop up the hallways, he took down defense systems and Fire Warriors with carefully placed bolter rounds. Only one round was necessary to put down most targets; some turrets required two.

Paeran brought up the rear, watching the backs of his battle-brothers as the slaughter unfolded ahead of him. Every now and again a few enterprising Tau tried to flank them from behind, but his bolter quickly ended such ambitions, rendering them only a pale annoyance. At times he wished to be at the surging crest of the squad line, breaking through the enemy, but for now he contented himself with the view of the dead scattered around the halls.

Eventually they came before a massive vault door, the locks having been slid firmly in place. Compared to the drab tan of the rest of the facility, the metal here was gunmetal-grey, with the blue glare of countless monitors and holographic maps spread along the walls.

“Stack up,” Terax ordered. The squad, without a word, slid into place besides the door.

“Paeran,” he continued. The head of the young Primaris twisted towards him, betraying surprise.

“Yes, sir?” Paeran asked, his finger eagerly tapping his bolter.

“I’ll let you have this one,” Terax said, a hint of mirth creeping into his voice.

“… Are you sure, sir?” Paeran cocked his head, the polish of his helmet glinting beneath stark-white lights.

Terax nodded, slow and deep.

“Right away, sir!” Paeran swiveled to face the door, then held open a gauntleted palm towards Cronius, who proceeded to hand him the plasma cutter. He knelt, magnetizing the bolter to his thigh, and switched on the cutter. Small globules of liquidized metal dripped as he cut upwards through the locks.

Verium, who had been watching this entire exchange, inclined his gaze slightly, switching focus from Paeran to Terax.

“Is this truly wise?” he asked. “It’s only his first deployment. He hasn’t been properly blooded on the battlefield.”

“If he hasn’t been ‘properly blooded,’ then neither have we,” shot back Cronius. His red optic whirred slightly, a slight sign of annoyance. “We didn’t serve in the Scout and Devastator squads.”

“Even so-,” Verium began again.

“None of you are properly blooded,” Terax sternly interjected. “You may have served with zeal, but you did not undergo the initiation rites that Karlyle and I did. So I’m training you on the battlefield now.”

Silence stretched from a second into three, filled only by the sizzling of the plasma cutter.

Verium cleared his throat. “My apologies, sergeant. I was out of line.”

“Very much so,” Terax replied. “Paeran, how’s the door?”

Paeran did not respond for a second, the sparks still flying off his visor. Then he switched off the cutter and tossed it back to Cronius, who caught it midair.

“It’s done,” he replied as he took a step backwards. His helm tilted slightly towards Verium, but then he refocused upon the door.

“Are we ready, brothers?”

“Ready.”

“Ready.”

“Ready.”

“Ready,” finished Terax. “On your go.”

Paeran nodded, and then swung his right leg outwards, just as Cronius had done. The door imploded; a sizable dent smashed into its center.

The 3rd Squad of the 7th Company swept in, their bolters spewing righteous hate at the xenos before them. Unlike the stout Fire Warriors they had cut through in the halls and barricades of the fortress, these were a different variant of the Tau, taller and slender-limbed. Some of them were unloading pulse pistols into the Astartes, scoring their armor and leaving behind numerous scorch marks.

They still died all the same to the Raven Guard.

One of them was clad in golden robes, denoting a rank of high import. As the squad swept through the room, he raised his arms in a feeble mockery of defense. The blood of his comrades had been splattered upon his garments, and he was gibbering in abject fear.

“Would this be the target?” chuckled Karlyle. “I’ve had Guardsmen give me more trouble.”

Terax stepped forward, and with a single swing of his knife, severed the golden-robed Tau’s head from his shoulders.

“He won’t be bothering us anymore,” finished the sergeant, as he knelt to wipe his knife with the alien’s robes. “Status?”

“Room clear, marks terminated,” replied Cronius. “That would be a successful mission, yes?”

“It’s only successful if we make it back,” replied Terax. “Everyone, bolters up and heads on a swivel. We’re leaving.”

“Yes sir!” came the chorus.

* * *

As Terax and his squad exited the hatch and stepped back out into the cool night air of the planet’s forests, they were being watched. Perched upon the slender limb of the tallest tree in the valley, kilometers out of range of even the Astartes’ superhuman vision, another armored titan lowered a pair of binoculars, the glow of its screen splashing a light green over him.

In almost every respect, he was a mirror of the armor-clad warriors below. He, too, was exceptionally massive, with trunks for arms and legs, bolstered by some of the hardest materials known to man. A bolter too was slung on his waist, and a knife strapped to his lower left leg.

Yet, there was something undeniably different about him too. Spiky protrusions jutted out all over his body, and intricately carved human faces screamed upon his armor. Even more faces, these ones all too real, were stitched into a pattern that was worn over his shoulders, forming a crude cloak. His legs ended in impossibly sharp talons that gripped the tree branch, scarring the wood.

Most strange of all, a pair of enormous leathery wings were folded over his back, shivering slightly with the night cold.

He shifted and slipped the binoculars into a leathery pack on his waist, and slipped it closed with a strangely white and red patch of fabric. Then, with a shudder, the wings on his back rippled outwards into its full wingspan, whispering as they caught the wind.

As a stronger gust blew by, he dropped from the limb. His wings beat, and slowly he rose. The stranger turned and wheeled towards the horizon, the fires of battle burning below him.

Soon he blended into the night sky, becoming another shadow passing unseen.


End file.
